The Samurai's Daughter (19 page)

‘Stipends? What stipends?’ said Kenjiro gleefully. ‘When we lost the war that was the end of stipends for us. The potato samurai need their stipends, though – without their stipends they’ll be in trouble. First they lose their swords, now their incomes. They should have stayed on their sweet potato farms, not come up here throwing their weight around, brandishing their hoes and spades. They’ll finally get some idea of how we northerners feel – and about time, too.’

‘They’ll get jobs easily enough,’ said Yasutaro grimly. ‘We’ll still be at the bottom of the heap.’

‘Well, at least we can enjoy our enemies’ downfall.’

‘Things are getting serious,’ said Yasu in measured tones. ‘They’re forming militias down south. They’ve got their own military academies there and they’re training and carrying out manoeuvres. The word is that the governor of Kagoshima has refused to implement the new mandate. As far as he’s concerned, there’ll be no abolishing of stipends in Kagoshima or anywhere in the Satsuma lands. There’s even talk that Satsuma may rise against the government and declare independence.’

‘The government is half Satsuma men. If they rise against the government they rise against themselves. It’s as the Chinese sages say. The wise man waits and his enemies tear each other to pieces, like Tosa fighting dogs.’

Nobu was aware of a dryness in his mouth and a queasy sensation in his stomach. There was a thought gnawing at him. He’d been trying to push it away but he couldn’t keep it at bay any longer. Taka’s father. Everyone knew he’d been one of the leading figures in the government and had stormed out several years ago and gone back to his home base in the south. His name was on everyone’s lips – Kitaoka the Great. He must be one of the leaders of this rebellion.

‘The Satsuma, you say,’ he said. ‘So Kitaoka …’

‘It’s politics,’ said Kenjiro. ‘You’re too young to understand.’

Yasutaro looked at Nobu with big sad eyes.

‘No one knows what game General Kitaoka’s playing. He’s biding his time. No one even knows where he is. Everyone’s waiting to see what he does. If he gives the word the south will rise, if he doesn’t they may still rise. Or they may not.’

‘And if they rise …’

‘They’ll send the army to put down the insurrection and we’ll all join up. We’ll get our own back on the potato samurai.’

13

‘CUT OFF OUR
stipends? Next thing you know they’ll be cutting off our balls!’

Eijiro’s bellow rattled the paper doors, skimming through the empty rooms to the distant wing where Taka sat on her knees with their mother, Fujino, sewing. Even on the other side of the house she could hear that his words were slurred. His behaviour made her cringe. Drinking with his cronies again. In recent days these drinking parties had become longer and noisier and now went on well into the night.

Taka was stitching together a couple of squares of silk in the flickering light of the oil lamps, attaching the sleeve of one of her wedding kimonos, wiping her hands on a piece of cotton so as not to stain the expensive brocade. She could hardly concentrate for the noise. Transparent moths flitted around the flames. The air was hot and moist. In the darkness outside the circle of light, the doors had been taken out to allow the tiniest breeze to flow through.

A voice growled in Satsuma brogue. ‘This government. Every time it’s the same. Cut your hair, they say – if you like, that is. Then a couple of years later, we’re to chop off our topknots – by law.’

‘Come on, Yamakawa,’ yelled a dissenter. ‘You flaunt your cropped cut as proud as any of us!’

The speaker carried on, his voice heavy with irony. ‘No need for swords any more –
if
you like. Then, a couple of years later,
they
tell us, no swords to be worn by law. And now what do we hear? Trade in your stipends for government bonds
if
you like. Then – you thought you had a stipend, but you don’t, not any more. Have some government bonds instead, by law. They’re taking everything. By all the gods, what use are government bonds to me? How am I supposed to live without a stipend?’

The chink of sake cups was nearly drowned by the roar of outraged agreement and the thunder of fists on the floor.

Shouts went up. ‘For this we fought? For this our brothers died? For a country where samurai can’t wear swords or dress as samurai and where they cut off our money? We don’t even have jobs, we can’t even be soldiers any more. They’re rounding up peasants to fight now, as if peasants have the faintest idea what to do with a sword. The very thought of it …’

Taka felt a prick and dropped the fabric as a spot of red blossomed on her fingertip. She knew these friends of Eijiro’s. Eijiro had grown up in Kyoto but these were hard-drinking, hard-fighting southern lads, Satsuma to the core. Some had minor jobs in the government, others no jobs at all. They were happy enough to swagger around the Yoshiwara in peacetime, acting the playboy, but it was obvious they were champing at the bit, itching for the chance to pick up their swords again.

‘They want to turn us into weaklings and women,’ shouted the first voice. ‘I didn’t spend my life notching up honours as a swordsman just to end up wielding a writing brush.’

‘You’re lucky to be wielding a brush,’ responded another. ‘Most of us don’t have jobs at all. If we can’t get our stipends, how are we going to live? And our parents, what are they supposed to do?’

Eijiro’s tones soared loud and clear. ‘What do they expect us to do – sell our swords and set up shop? Soil our hands with money, like filthy merchants?’

Fujino slapped down her sewing, her plump brow creased into thick furrows of disdain. ‘What nonsense. He has money enough to redeem his precious Tsukasa, money enough to show off to his cronies night after night. How much does he need?’

Taka stared in surprise. Usually her mother wouldn’t hear a word of criticism of her beloved son.

‘They steal our self-respect, everything that makes a man a man, and leave us with nothing. Nothing!’ boomed Eijiro. ‘The dignity and honour of the samurai class is at stake. We’re frittering away our lives in this filthy city. Let’s get back to our mountains, our volcanoes, our palm trees, our good Kyushu rice wine! Are you with me, lads? Will you come down to Kagoshima and join my father?’

The men drummed their fists and heels on the floor until the house shook. There was a roar. ‘To arms! Kagoshima! Let’s go!’

Fujino’s eyes flashed dangerously. ‘Fool! He’s never even been there! How dare he bring your father into it. It’s all bluster. They’ll do nothing, none of them. Like him.’

Eijiro’s voice rose again. ‘Okatsu, Gonza, Osan. Useless servants, never around when you need them. Mother, where are you? Sake, now! My guests are waiting!’

Fujino rested a hand on the floor and heaved herself to her feet with surprising speed, her face black. ‘They treat this place like a teahouse. What do they take me for? Son or no son, I’m having no more of it. They can take themselves off to the Yoshiwara where these sorts of rowdy gatherings belong.’

She drew herself up, tucked her yukata into place around her large bosom and sailed out.

Sighing, Taka put down her needlework. Even Okatsu had been pressed into serving at the party. Taka pictured her smiling good-naturedly, dodging Eijiro’s friends as they grabbed at her skirts. The youths were belting out a Satsuma drinking song. She could hear them stamping and clapping.

Taka went to the veranda and gazed out into the night. Tall bamboos swayed against the sky. She made out the gnarled shapes of pine trees, stone lanterns looming like ghosts and the dark hollow where the path wriggled off around the lake and into the woods.

She chewed her lip. They’d lived in this beautiful house for so
long
, she’d almost forgotten Kyoto and the dark days of fighting, yet here was Eijiro stirring up trouble again. As long as she could remember, her brother had always been looking for a fight. There’d been too many years of inaction. All these lads were longing for a cause, something to get fired up about, to fight for, die for if necessary.

Eijiro had mentioned their father. It was years since their beloved father had been in Tokyo, yet everyone still spoke his name in tones of awe. The longer he was away, the more he seemed some god-like being, as if he’d become more than human. He’d come to stand for something greater than himself. Whenever Eijiro or anyone else wanted to criticize the new regime with all the changes it was bringing about, they invoked his name.

Taka had tried asking Eijiro what was going on, but he just said, ‘Stick to your sewing, little girl. Don’t poke your nose into men’s affairs.’

‘Your job is to prepare for your wedding and learn how to keep house,’ Fujino told her. ‘And then to have babies. Leave politics to the menfolk. Remember: a clever woman never lets a man know how clever she is. Never forget that.’ And no matter how much Taka had pressed her she wouldn’t say more.

Suddenly there was a sound somewhere in the grounds – the rustle of bushes, the pad of running feet. Taka started, her heart pounding, and listened intently, hoping she’d imagined it, praying she’d been mistaken. There was another sound, quite distinct – a twig cracking, as if there was a fox or a badger out there, or an intruder.

It was all too likely in these dangerous times that an assassin would creep in, stealthy as a ninja. There had been rebellions down south; even she knew that. Uncle Shimpei – her father’s old colleague Eto Shimpei, who’d been minister of justice when her father was in charge of the government – had been at the head of one a couple of years ago. She’d overheard her mother talking about it with Aunt Kiharu in hushed tones. Apparently it had been put down and he’d been executed. Only the other day a
member
of the government had been murdered, and Taka knew her father had many enemies who might target his family too. There were guards at the gates, even more at night, and the walls were very high, but someone really determined could still scramble over.

Branches creaked in the darkness and gravel crunched underfoot. Whoever it was, he was very near the house. For a moment there was silence. Not even a mosquito buzzed. Taka held her breath and clenched her fists so tightly her nails dug into her palms. Then she glimpsed a shadowy figure, darting between the trees.

Trembling, she felt for the dagger in her sash and clutched it feverishly. Peering into the blackness she made out a tall lanky body, then a head and a pair of blazing eyes. She let out a gasp as she recognized the intruder: Nobu. He scowled and put a finger to his lips.

Behind her the drinking song echoed through the stillness. The voices fell silent and Taka heard her mother’s clipped, angry tones.

Nobu stepped up to the veranda, his features etched in the lamplight. He was panting. There were leaves and bits of twig in his hair and his cheeks were streaked with dirt, but it was the expression on his face that frightened her. He looked hunted, almost crazed. He glanced around, wild-eyed, and Taka realized with a shock of horror that if her brother found him there, he’d cut him down for sure.

She stared at him, aghast.

Five days had passed since they had walked in the grounds of Sengaku Temple. She had counted the hours and days, repeating his words. ‘I’ll find a way to see you again,’ he’d said. ‘I promise.’ Okatsu had warned her sternly that it would be impossible for him to get a note to her but she’d refused to listen. ‘He promised,’ she’d said again and again.

But when the silence continued she had finally despaired and told herself that she never wanted to hear from him again. She
scolded
herself. She’d been too forward. How could she have taken his hand and talked to him about whatever was in her mind? She’d been carried away, but now she’d come to her senses. He was a servant, she the daughter of a famous and important man.

And, though he kept quiet about it, she knew perfectly well he was an Aizu, an enemy. Eijiro always said northerners were traitors, degenerates, poor, backward, uneducated, who lived in hovels and hardly even knew how to use chopsticks. They were barely human, born to be servants, unfit for anything else. Maybe she’d been wrong to be taken in by him. Much though it went against the grain even to think such a thing, maybe Eijiro had been right. After all, her father had fought them in battle and her mother had had to beat them off when they hammered at her door in Kyoto. Surely Taka would be betraying her whole family if she even spoke to such vermin.

But seeing him standing before her, his skinny calves bare, his jacket torn and dirty, her anger entirely drained away. He caught his breath and his face cleared. She no longer noticed his dusty hair and stained clothes, all she was aware of were his full lips and proud nose and the hollows in his cheeks. She hadn’t realized how handsome he’d become. It made her feel quite shy.

‘You came!’ she whispered, glancing over her shoulder, afraid she might see Fujino’s huge shadow approaching. But there was no one. ‘How did you get in?’

He grinned. His face changed and for a moment he was the urchin she remembered.

‘I climbed in. I know these gardens. It was a bit dark. I tripped over a few times.’ He hesitated and glanced around. ‘I need to talk to you,’ he added sharply. ‘Are you alone?’ The look in his eyes made her uneasy.

Taka nodded. She picked up her skirts and, with a thrill of excitement at doing something so forbidden, jumped down on to the gravel and slid her feet through the thongs of a pair of geta clogs. She waited for her eyes to get used to the dark then hurried away from the house as quietly as she could. She heard
Nobu
padding behind her as the blackness swallowed them up.

Sticking to the paths, watching out for stones and snakes and sharp-edged leaves, they skirted the bamboo grove, breathing the rich scents of warm soil and growing plants. It was a beautiful night. Stalks creaked and swayed above them. They cut through the landscaped gardens and around the artificial hill, then crossed a half-moon bridge, leaning over to gaze at the carp that darted below them, silvery backs glinting in the starlight. The sounds of the party faded into the distance as they picked their way through the heavy darkness behind the lake. Bats flittered and swooped and Taka jumped as an owl shrieked.